One more day.
I read somewhere how it hurts to love someone who couldn't love themselves. It's like watching a work of art set itself on fire. So when I listen to you tell me how badly you wanted to stop breathing, how your skin felt like a costume, how your voice sometimes wasn't yours, how deeply you hated your existence, my heart broke into a million pieces. Loving you is like watching a cathedral collapse from within each stained-glass window shattering in slow motion. I want to tether you to this life with something softer than guilt— with stillness. With care. I wish I could convince you to stay. I wish you could see it in my eyes when I looked at yours that what I felt for you was more than affection. I would burn myself just to keep you warm. I will remain desperately hopeful that you'll one day see yourself the way I see you. And if I can't will you to stay, then let me love you into t...
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